“Yes, sir,” she breathed. She squeezed her eyes shut as he wound fresh strips of linen around her hands, between her split fingers. It was a bliss unlike any she’d experienced in recent memory.
Quietly, he said: “It isn’t right.”
“The bandages?” Alizeh looked up. “Oh, no, sir, I think—”
“This,” he said, lifting her hands closer to the lamplight. Even half-wrapped and covered in salve, the picture was tragic. “They work you too hard, miss. It isn’t right.”
“Oh.” Alizeh returned her eyes to the counter. “It’s no trouble.”
She heard the ire in his voice when he said, “They work you like this because of what you are. Because of what you can bear. A human body could not withstand so much, and they take advantage of you because they can. You must realize that.”
“Indeed, I do,” Alizeh said with some dignity. “Though you must also realize that I’m grateful to have the work, sir.”
“You may call me Deen.” He retrieved another brush, which he used to paint a different salve onto the cut at her neck. Alizeh sighed as the medicine spread, closing her eyes when the pain dulled, then faded altogether.
It was a moment before Deen cleared his throat and said,“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a servant wear a snoda at night.”
Alizeh froze, and the apothecarist felt it. When she made no reply, he said quietly, “You are perhaps, as a result, unaware of the large bruise spanning your cheek.”
“Oh.” Alizeh lifted one newly bandaged hand to her face. “I...”
She’d not realized her bruise had bled beyond the lines of her snoda. It was illegal for housekeepers to beat their servants, but Alizeh had never met a housekeeper who’d observed this law, and she knew bringing attention to it now would only cost her her job.
She said nothing.
Deen sighed. “If you would only remove your snoda, miss, I might inspect the damage for you.”
“No,” Alizeh said too quickly. “That is— I thank you for your concern, but I’m quite all right.”
It was a long while before Deen said quietly, “Very well. But when I am done, I ask that you come back in one week so that I might check for signs of improvement or infection.”
“Yes, sir.” She hesitated. “I mean, Deen, sir.”
He smiled. “If, however, you develop a fever in the interim, you must send for a surgeon at once.”
To this, Alizeh merely nodded. Even with five dresses worth of income she knew she’d not be able to afford a surgeon, but did not see the point in expressing so.
Deen was winding a narrow bandage around her neck—precisely the sort of spectacle she’d been trying to avoid—when he made one last attempt at conversation. “Thisis an interesting wound, miss,” he said. “More interesting for all the conflicting stories we’ve been hearing in town today.”
Alizeh stiffened.
She knew, objectively, that she’d done nothing wrong, but Alizeh lived in this city only because she’d had to escape her own attempted execution. It was seldom, if ever, that she stopped worrying. “Which conflicting stories, sir?”
“Stories of the prince, of course.”
Almost at once, Alizeh relaxed. “Oh,” she said. “I don’t believe I’ve heard any.”
Deen was pinning her bandage in place when he laughed. “With all due respect, miss, you’d have to be deaf not to have heard. The whole of the empire is discussing the prince’s return to Setar.”
“He’s come back?” Beneath her snoda, Alizeh’s eyes widened. She, who was new to the city, had heard only rumors about the empire’s elusive heir. Those who lived in Setar lived in the royal heart of Ardunia; its lifelong residents had seen the prince in his infancy, had watched him grow. Alizeh would be lying if she said she wasn’t curious about the royals, but she was far from obsessed, the way some were.
Just then—in a flash of understanding—the day’s events made sense.
The festivities Mrs. Sana had mentioned—the impending ball. It was no wonder Miss Huda needed five new gowns. Of course Duchess Jamilah had demanded every one of her rooms be cleaned. She was a distant cousin of the king, and it was rumored she had a close relationship with the prince.
Perhaps she was expecting a visit.
“Indeed, he is come home,” Deen was saying. “And no small thing either, is it? Already they’re planning a ball, and no fewer than a dozen festivities. Of course”—he grinned—“not that the likes of us should care. I don’t expect we’ll be seeing the inside of a palace ballroom anytime soon.”
